By My Side
by Iggycat
Summary: I'd fallen on the beaches of Normandy. I'd closed my eyes and prepared to die. I'd given up; but one person refused to give up on me. USUK WW2 oneshot Alfred's POV


Disclaimer: I own nothing. Rights go to the respected owners. Hetalia belongs to Hidekaz Himaruya.

A/N: This story was written as part of a writting exchange with my friend Americat (check her out!) My prompt was: **Either Alfred or Arthur gets stuck and one comes to the other's rescue.** I hope you enjoy, and if you have the time, I'd really appreciate some feedback! Thanks :)

* * *

><p>The horrible pain shot right up my leg and through my spine. I could feel it, the immense sting as a bullet made its way through my thigh. It was difficult to stand, and within seconds both my legs gave in on me and I fell to the floor. The grass was soft around me, aided by the small patches of sand that had led up from the beach. I could sense the pain more clearly now as I lay on my stomach with my face in the grass. The throbbing was terrible, and I could feel the inside of my pant leg start to affix to me from the sticky red liquid that was pouring out of my leg. Yet miraculously, I wasn't dead. The bullet must have missed all major arteries and any bones, sparing me from a fatal blow. A shot at either of those and I'd already be gone. I chuckled to myself at the thought, noting that while I wasn't yet KIA, I'd surely die from the massive blood loss. No matter though; I mean, what's a more heroic way to die than fighting for your country? I just hope mom doesn't cry too much.<p>

Other soldiers could be heard moving around me, no doubt advancing farther onto the beach. Few had time to bother with the dead or wounded since dealing with the immediate threat of the Germans was a bit of a task in and of itself. It's alright, I thought to myself. I'd rather the others press on and take Normandy; otherwise my death would be for nothing. A smile made its way to my lips even as it became harder to move and breathe. In a few hours, or maybe days, the medics would find me. I'd be labeled dead, but along with that title, I'd also be a deemed a hero. Something that I always aspired to be would only befall me at death. Strange how life works out that way. As the throbbing became more substantial, and memories started to flood my brain, I let my eyes drift close and waited to wake up in a better place.

"Hey! I've got one casualty on the northeastern shore!"

My eyes shot open again, and though I was gaping directly at the floor, I could feel a presence kneeling down beside me. Someone was shifting around, as if inspecting me. I felt as the person took hold of my wrist and waited for a pulse. When it came, and I could be considered living, I felt a pressure on my side as I was turned onto my back. I came face to face with another unknown Allied soldier.

"Oh good you're alive," he seemed to sigh relieved as he stared at me. "All our wounded boys being left in the dust… I can't even fathom ever leaving a fallen comrade behind."

I looked at him, met his eyes and was astounded by their colour. His emerald orbs were sad, strict, and scared, but what stood out to me was their calming sensation. Looking at his eyes made it seem like I was back home again; vibrant green grass and trees as far as the eyes can see. I wanted to tell him about his gift, really I did, but talking had become too much of a chore. I tried to smile at him wryly but he just shifted his concerned glance down to my leg.

"You were hit in the thigh," he said as he started to bring up the rim of my pant leg exposing my wound. "It's not fatal; you'll surely make it through."

As he continued to roll up the hem of my beige military uniform, I got a good long look at him. While I'd noticed his eyes before, I just now became aware of the very prominent eyebrows that framed his face. I wanted to laugh, but again I couldn't find the energy, and instead continued to trace the outline of his body. Even under his helmet I could see the starts of a tangled mess of light blonde hair. I traveled farther and only then did I see the conspicuous white arm band with the red cross in the center, contrasting his dark green British army uniform.

"Are you conscious, lad?"

He must've become concerned from my lack of movement and response. Again, I wanted to answer him, but the best I could manage was a smile. He smiled back and pat me on the shoulder.

"You're going to get through this alright? I won't let you die here. This soil is already tainted by the blood of so many Allied soldiers."

He unfastened the first few buttons of my uniform and pulled out my dog tags. I watched silently as he scrutinized them, and then lifted his gaze back to me.

"It's nice to meet you, Alfred," he spoke evenly while gunshots could be heard in the distance. "Terrible time for salutations, I know, but it's the way I was brought up."

He smiled again, and while I yearned to reply to him, my body really was giving out. By now I was struggling to stay awake; my eyelids feeling like bricks. It was a shame really, since I would've loved to be with this medic longer. The man was kind, yet stern, and I couldn't help wishing I'd met him before this painful day.

"You've lost a lot of blood," I could vaguely make out, as I heard him shuffle through the contents of his medical bag, "And it seems the bullet went straight through. I don't know whether you consider that a good or bad thing, but at least it decreases the chance of infection from foreign contamination."

A pressure was placed on my thigh, and I'm not gonna lie, it hurt like hell. It was still too hard to talk, but I bit my lip so hard that it started bleeding too.

"Easy, lad. I'm trying to stop the blood loss, not further it."

Back home if someone had said that to me I would have laughed. It would've been one of those ridiculously loud chortles that my brother Mattie used to always say was my trademark laugh. Back home I would have smiled at the medic, asked his name and made friends. In time maybe we'd even become best friends…or maybe even more… since I'm a bit peculiar like that. But, the middle of a battlefield is not home, and so instead I let my eyes flutter closed as the soldier wrapped my wound with gauze.

"Alfred," he jerked my shoulder softly. "Alfred you have to stay awake for me, alright?"

He was tightening the gauze, adding medical tape to keep it together. When he finished, he moved from the bottom of my bloodstained uniform up closer to my face. He patted my cheek a few times, when sleep refused to renounce itself.

"Alfred, please. You can't go to sleep yet. Please, stay with me."

I knew what he meant. Falling asleep was really code for something else. I blinked my bleary eyes open for a moment, but it proved to be too hard, and I let them fall back again. It wasn't long before the medic was shaking my shoulders lightly, trying to keep me awake.

"Alfred F. Jones, dammit! I don't even know you, but you're an Allied soldier, one of us, and we don't give up! You're going to stay awake, because I'll be damned if you die on my watch!" He sounded angry, but even more than that, he sounded distraught. If I pictured him in my mind, I could see tears collecting in the corners of those jade eyes. "Live, you bloody git…"

Then I felt a presence feather over my left hand. It seemed somewhat shy, ghosting over my knuckles until I managed to loosen them, allowing for the smaller palm to join with my own. I could feel calloused blisters on the man's hand, along with something sticky that I didn't want to think about. He held firmly to my palm, and summoning what energy was left in me, I managed to squeeze back.

"You promise to stay with me, Alfred?" he asked in a troubled voice and I really wished I could see his face. I felt absolutely terrible for causing someone I didn't even know so much pain, but at the same time, I was grateful there was someone here with me, waiting for me to die but hoping against it. I squeezed his hand again, and feeling it was one of my final obligations to this soldier, muttered a strained "Thanks."

I envisioned him smiling again now as he tightened his grip on my hand.

"Don't say thanks until you wake up safe and sound in one of the field hospitals." He pressed against my palm again as his tone reflected something a bit more gentle. "They're coming with a stretcher now, Alfred. I can see them in the distance. Hang on just a bit longer."

I did. Not because I wanted to survive and receive some special army merits, but because I felt the need to obey this man. After all he'd done for me, the least I could do was remain conscious for a few more minutes.

A moment later I heard a thump as what I presumed was the stretcher landing on the grass beside me. I heard a new voice talking to the medic, saying something that I did not understand, nor wished to hear. I wanted to hear the medic's voice again. I wanted to hear that tranquil accent and envision those calming emerald eyes.

"Alfred, we're going to take you to a medical tent alright?"

He squeezed my hand again, and when he tried to pull his hand away, I found myself clinging to his touch.

"Alfred," he whispered gently, "I need to help carry your stretcher. I'll be right here, I promise."

He ran his thumb over mine, and slowly I relinquished my grip. Soon thereafter, I felt myself being moved onto said stretcher and lifted into the air. The medic's voice overpowered the sound of gunshots, and boots hitting soggy ground.

"Don't you forget your promise, Alfred. You promised me you'd stay awake."

But by now, while the pain and aches had subsided, I could no longer remain conscious. My thoughts took over, and fragmented images of green eyes and blonde hair plagued my mind.

* * *

><p>To my astonishment, I actually awoke alive in a bed ward of one of the field hospitals not far from where I had been stationed. I wasn't sure how much time had passed since I'd been shot, but my voice had returned, and moving my limbs was no longer an unpleasant task. My leg ached some, but the pain had dulled substantially from when I'd still been out on the field. I'd been lost in thought when a nurse came to change the binding on my leg. I inquired about my whereabouts, and she'd said that I was delivered to a medical tent by some fellow soldiers and then relocated to the hospital for better medicinal attention and recuperation.<p>

"Did you by chance, happen to catch the name of the soldier who dropped me off at the medical tent?" I asked trying not to seem too eager.

"Unfortunately, no. So many soldiers are delivered from the front to the tents; it's rather hard to keep track of who was with who."

"Oh…" I spoke softly, shifting my gaze to the ground. A frown had graced my lips, and I honestly felt my eyes welling up.

"I'm sorry," she tried to comfort me by patting my shoulder. "So many boys come in here wanting to know what happened to their fellow comrades or saviors, and yet we never know. What I would give to tell just one of our boys his friend is doing fine."

"Well thank you…" I said smiling softly, as she finished up with my bandages. "I appreciate you telling me what you know."

"Sure thing, sweetheart." She rose and turned to leave, but then gave me one last look. "Don't give up hope. I'm sure the two of you will meet again."

As she walked away, I silently whispered a word of thanks to a man who had saved my life, and who I longed to see again.

* * *

><p>Three and half weeks later, my leg had fully recovered and I returned to the battlefront. By now the Allies had a strong hold on Normandy and were advancing further into occupied France toward the River Seine. I was transported back to my regiment and immediately sent to continue in the battle. It had never occurred to me that war never stops; not for the wounded, not for anyone.<p>

We were moving eastward while constantly encountering German troops. The battle was nowhere near as bad as the initial invasion had been, but the gunshots, followed by grunts of dying men had my stomach in knots. I tried to calm my racing heart and uneasy belly when I heard a high pitched shriek of pain not too far off. I turned 180 degrees to find a British soldier with gash in his side. A bullet had nipped his waist, and I watched as scarlet liquid slowly started to take over his uniform.

I didn't think twice before I ran to him. I knew I wasn't a medic, but my close run-in with death, and the lucky hand of fate I'd been given justified my actions. If this war had taught me anything, it's that we needed to help each other in times of need.

"Hey there," I said as I knelt down to the man in question. I wasn't the best with words, but I wanted to try and be somewhat of a comfort to this fellow soldier, the way the medic had been to me. He groaned, causing me to frown as I rolled him over onto his back. My breath hitched in my throat.

Green eyes, blonde hair and those unforgettable eyebrows. Oh my god.

"Y-you're the medic that saved my life," I stumbled over my words, not knowing what else to say.

I saw as he tried to laugh but wound up scrunching his nose in pain. He was holding his side, and fresh blood already covered his hands. When he looked up at me, those piercing green eyes were searching, while still managing to be as calming as ever.

"Life has a silly way of doing things, doesn't it Alfred?"

My words were caught in my throat, since the atmosphere was a bit too much for me right now. I tried to compose myself, do something useful for the man who had done so much for me, but all I could do was stare at him in awe. He reached for my hand and I took it, squeezing gently but firmly the way he'd done for me.

"I need you to do me a favour, Alfred," he spoke relaxed, though he should be anything but at the moment. "I need you to make sure I don't fall asleep. Can you promise me that?"

I nodded my head fervently and nearly squeezed the life out of his hand. I didn't want this man to die on me the way I'd almost done to him.

"Yes," I said clearly, making my objectives known. "I'll never give up on you… uh…" I struggled, realizing I didn't know his name.

"Arthur. Arthur Kirkland."

He smiled before lapsing into another bout of pain. When he recovered, I mirrored my own grin, hoping it would be a small consolation.

"Nice to meet you Arthur," I started, smiling, and I could see that he was smiling too. "Strange place for formalities, but that's just the way I was raised, ya' know?"

He grinned softly and I saw as those bright jade eyes were starting to flutter. I rubbed calming circles into his thumb, as I spoke.

"Arthur, you've gotta stay with me alright? I know ya' probably don't think a yank is the best company, but I made you a promise, and I'll be damned if I brake a promise to someone who saved my life."

Arthur squeezed my hand and mumbled a quaint "Thank you."

"No, Arthur, thank _you_."

It was silent for a moment between us until I saw another medic approaching with a stretcher.

"Hey Artie, they're coming with a stretcher now."

"When did I give you permission to call me 'Artie?'" He spoke faintly, and offered me a scowl. I let loose one of my trademark laughs as the other medic arrived and plunked the stretcher down next to us. When I tried to let go of Arthur's hand he clamped down harder, and I had to suppress the urge to pick him up, hold him close, and tell him everything would be alright. Instead, I squeezed his hand and offered some comforting words that a kind man had told me not a month before.

"I'll be right here, I promise."

And to this day, I've not once left Arthur Kirkland's side.


End file.
